Five for Fighting
by xXGrasshopperXx
Summary: A prophecy brings together five fifteen-year-olds to defeat Voldemort. They will live together and be trained together. Each teenager is plucked out of their totally different lives. Will this be a success or a disaster? And perhaps romance will bloom...
1. Introducing

Helloooooooooo people! First of all, thank you, thank you, thank you for opening up this fanfiction. Now, it might be good, and it might be bad. I'm not promising you anything except to pay careful attention to whatever you say in your reviews, so please PLEASE review! I have pairings planned which I really want to do, but if a lot of people disagree with them then maybe they'll change. I'll give you a while to notice and guess. Ok, I'm writing all this desperately hoping people will be reading and reviewing but maybe you'll all be disgusted with the first few words and abandon this fanfic as a hopeless case. Noooooooooooooooooo! Don't leave me! is all I can say…Hope you like it!

Disclaimer: No, I don't own HP. Rub it in, why don't you!

**FIVE FOR FIGHTING**

_**Introducing…**_

**Draco Malfoy**

He watched the ball of fire slowly sink down into the sea, as if longing for a cooling dip after its long hot journey across the sky. The fire was extinguished, but the sun had lent a few of its many colours to the clouds left floating in huge dusky vault. Pink, mauve, blue, violet, pale orange- the warm colours reminded him of the shadowy iciness in his father's dark manor, the place he was supposed to call home. Black and white marble, devoid of any warmth, except for his mother's smile. And even that single expression of happiness, which had led him through his gloomy childhood, had pretty much been absent lately. Slowly Draco turned away from the darkening sky, and the dark blue waves of the ocean, softly lapping against the shore, like a mother's gentle voice lulling her child to sleep. He walked wearily back across the cold sand- back to the life of war and hate, curses and murder, prejudices and indoctrination, and the cold grandeur of his manor-home, all of which being a Malfoy brought upon him.

**Blaise Zabini**

The silver BMW braked and the uniformed chauffer hurriedly got out and made haste to open his master's door. In the back seat, lounging against the beige upholstery, a fifteen-year-old boy took out a pair of sunglasses and put them on, despite the fact that it was dark outside. He looked dashing in a tailor-made tux; with his messy black hair falling over his eyes in a particularly sexy way. The car-door opened, and he stepped out onto the red carpet outside.

Cameras immediately started clicking, letting out blinding flashes of light and strange puffs of acrid-smelling smoke. The carpet was cordoned off, but behind the ropes, crowds were jostling to get a glimpse of the famous teenage star- Blaise Zabini. The young man was seemingly unfazed by all this, and he raised a hand in a graceful wave. Upon this gesture, thousands of shrieking fan-girls swooned on the spot.

The handsome teenager made his way along the carpet, uptil the large steps, which he climbed with practised ease. Once up the stairs, he walked through the giant double doors, was quickly frisked by the wands of Ministry officials, and then was free to go where he liked.

The huge grand hall was filled with the celebrities of the wizarding world- Celestina Warbeck, Pamela Fitzpatrick, Stavros Destro, Patrick Pane, Melinda Colcannon, Isabella Daniels, Abrac Adabra and even Victor Krum. Alexandra Riel was giving him the eye, and a few other giggling girls he didn't recognise were looking his way, so he started to walk across the Persian carpet to avoid them- only to be spotted by some producer or the other, who started walking purposefully towards him. He finally managed to get away from all of them and sit down on one of the spindly golden chairs typical of such an event scattered around the room.

A few moments later, a stunning woman in sweeping robes of deep azure with a sapphire choker at her throat, came and embraced him, enveloping him in a cloud of expensive perfume.

"Hey Mom," he said tonelessly, once she had released him.

"Why hello, Blaise! How was your meeting with Johnson?"

"I didn't go," was the reply.

"Why ever not?" His mother gave him a meaningful look, which he ignored. "We'll talk about this later. For now, I want you to meet-" she stepped aside to allow a rather handsome Italian-looking man with long black hair in a ponytail to step forward. Any other young star would have gone to great lengths to meet this man, as he was one of the best directors known to the wizarding world. But the only thought which came into Blaise's head as he stood up to greet the gentleman was,

_Here we go again!_

**Ginny Weasley**

Ginny was in her favourite position- sipping hot chocolate, sitting with her feet, in a comfortable armchair near the fire, watching her brothers play chess.

"Hah! Take that, Ron! My knight got your bishop!" Bill gloated. Ron grinned and moved _his_ knight and took Bill's queen, checking his king. Bill signed.

"How d'you always do that?"

"Pure talent, Bill, pure talent."

Ginny laughed and joined in the rest of her siblings, teasing Bill. As her eldest brother heard her voice, he stopped sulking and started laughing. He got up, ran over to her, picked her up, and started tickling her. Breathless from laughter, Ginny gasped,

"Stop! Stop!"

"Not until you beg my forgiveness!"

"Never!" she gasped theatrically. Bill started swinging her round and round.

"OK! OK! I'm sorry!" Bill laughed and put her back down on the armchair. She grinned evilly.

"Bad idea!" She sprang up and started chasing him around the tiny room. The twins got up and joined in the chase, singing a war chant. Eventually, Mrs Weasley intervened and made them all stop and go to bed.

Lying in bed, looking up at her posters of The Weird Sisters and Gwenog Jones, Ginny smiled, then turned over and went to sleep.

**Adéle Réve**

Adele sat on the grass with her head in her hands and her long white skirt thrown over her legs. But her thoughts were far away in a fairytale where princes on white horses rescued beautiful princesses. She was staring glassy-eyes at a fair-haired boy called Dillon. He was the prince in her day dreams. She was riding behind him, her hair streaming behind her, her arms tight around his waist. Adele's day dream changed. She was swinging on a silver swing in the middle of an exquisitely beautiful garden. Suddenly a sandy-haired young man in royal garments dropped over the wall and walked up to her. In his soft voice, he started talking to her. After a while he leaned towards her and…

"Hello." Adele was brought out of her day-dream by a soft voice. The prince was sprawled next to her on the ground. Adele smiled at him. Oh! Her dream might come true…

**Harry Potter**

The jet-black haired skinny teenager sat typing away furiously on his wiz top. His emerald eyes were fixed on the screen and beads of perspiration were forming on his brow. He was trying to hack into the computer network of Greenland's Parliament. As a wizard, he probably could have done it with a flick of his wand; only, his magic just wasn't up to that standard. In fact, his magic wasn't up to anyone's standards, especially those of his teachers. So, he was hacking into the intensely protected computer network of the government of the country Durmstrang was in, just to get rid of a fellow student he particularly despised.

He was close to giving up and adding the project to the 'Not worth the strain and effort' pile- along with running, Divination, doing his own homework (he had invented a program to do that) and a lot of other things, mostly anything involving physical effort- but a soggy paper ball came and hit him on the back of his head, reminding him of why he had set about starting this in the first place.

"Oi! Dweebetty!" Harry willed himself not to jump on his insulter and start attacking him, because even the guy's intelligence level was nowhere near Harry's, he was five times as strong as him and about ten times as popular- with students and teachers. He decided, instead, to insult him in a way that his miniscule brain wouldn't register as an insult.

"I'm sorry, but the fact that your vocabulary lacks words of the common dictionary, makes it impossible for us to converse at my level of understanding." Hah! The bully was stunned and confused by what he had said, which gave Harry a few minutes of peace to get on with what he was doing. Eventually, the brute managed to come up with the extremely clever conclusion that Harry couldn't have said anything nice, so a look of outrage came onto his face.

"Whad'ya say?" Harry sighed. Then he plastered an excited smile on his face and turned around again.

"Dude! Science facilities should be alerted about you! It's totally unbelievable that a human being, even a wizard, can speak animal language so beautifully! You're totally fluent in pig!" The dungbrain actually looked flattered.

Harry grinned. He had managed to insult someone without them realising it, and to hack into Greenland's government computer network at the same time. He had done this so that he could do anything he liked with the computers, including show them various pictures and information about Durmstrang, if he wanted to. He had prepared a slide show for this purpose, which would not only reveal the location of the wizarding school- which had been kept a secret for many years- but would also alert muggles about the magical community living right under their noses. It would be breaking news, and the peace in which they lived would be destroyed. That is, if the headmaster of Durmstrang did not agree to his conditions. They weren't particularly difficult:

a) Expel Roger Olaf (the brute in his dorm)

b) Give Harry a dormitory of his very own

c) Light fires all over the castle

d) Cook better food, like he had read about Hogwarts

e) Tell all the teachers and other students to stop picking on me.

If none of these conditions were fulfilled, Harry would press a single button, and all hell would break loose for the wizarding world, because of a student in Durmstrang, and therefore the school would earn a very bad reputation. If only a few of them were fulfilled, Harry would send the slideshow to the Daily Prophet wiz comps, and the whole of the wizarding world would know of Durmstrang's secrets, and the school would either have to dip into its funds and relocate or would have to live with being utterly vulnerable.

On half of his screen, a live video from a camera Harry had positioned in the headmaster's office showed a considerably stressed man pacing up and down the office with a letter in his hands.

_Serve him right, _Harry thought.

**Okay so that was introducing all my characters. They've all been through different types of schooling though. Home-schooling, Salem's Institute, Hogwarts, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang respectively. The next two chapters will also be in this format…I hope you don't get bored of it. If you do, the plus point is that it makes the chapters uber long. Please review with suggestions. Or just to say it was super duper great? :D**


	2. Some time in the life of

_**Some Time in the Life of…**_

**Draco Malfoy**

"And Draco-" Draco turned round and headed back to his father.

"Yes, father."

"We have another- ah- commitment tonight. Make sure you are waiting in the hall at 10 o' clock sharp."

"Of course, father." As Draco bowed to his father, and then walked away, he wondered what this _commitment_ was. Definitely a mission assigned by the Dark Lord, probably the murder of an innocent family or the task of torturing the information about something out of a member of the Ministry of Magic, or the Order of the Phoenix. Sometimes he wished- no. These thoughts were not allowed. He wished for nothing else at all. A life in the servitude the Dark Lord was the best life possible. Draco quickly thought these thoughts as an automated reflex. He was trying to take a quiet corner of his mind and create barriers of powerful occlumency around it, making it undetectable even to the Dark Lord. He wanted to be able to think his own thoughts without having to face the consequences. Not that he had many of his own thoughts. Years of living as his father's shadow had banished all of the imagination a normal child would have. Living as his father's shadow had taught him control every emotion and be blindly faithful. This was a necessity if he were to be able to carry out the Dark Lord's orders. Draco glanced up at the grandfather clock. It was 4:30. A flicker of a smile crossed his ever emotionless face. Time to visit his mother. The best part of his day.

Draco knocked on the ash-wood door.

"Come in," called a gentle voice. Draco entered. A woman was seated in an armchair, looking out onto a garden through the French window on the wall opposite her. She turned to look at Draco and gave him a sweet smile. She extended a slight hand. Draco bent down and kissed it tenderly.

The woman was delicately beautiful. She had flawless fair skin and golden hair like silk. Her eyes were a pale translucent blue. She had a well-formed bone structure, and her face had a beautiful shape.

But she was much too thin. Her silky skin was stretched tight across her cheek-bones. Her wrists looked capable of snapping at any moment, and her hands and arms were thin and frail. The supposedly fitted sea-green gown hung loose in folds round her waist. Her kind blue eyes were full of pain.

"Draco…" she said softly. "How are you today?"

"I'm very well, Mother. It's you who is not well. How are you feeling? Can I get you anything?"

"Yes I am ill…" A slight frown creased her brow. Then a smile brightened her sorrowful features. "But down worry, Draco. I have Dilly to look after me." A house-elf stepped out from behind the armchair and curtsied deeply to Draco.

"Master Draco," she squeaked. Narcissa patted the creature's head and gave her a little smile. The elf stepped back into the shadows and stood quietly. Draco soon forgot about her. He was sitting in a chair he had conjured up, beside Narcissa, holding her fragile hand. She was silent but her grip on his hand showed that she knew he was there. She started to say,

"You know Draco, sometimes I wish…"

"No Mother," Draco interrupted urgently. "You do not wish. We are very happy."

"No Draco," Narcissa said, in a surprisingly firm voice, "I do wish. I wish that it wasn't this way." Draco pleaded with his eyes, but his mother was staring into the distance.

"I wish the world was free. You see that narcissus over there?" She lifted a slender finger of the hand Draco was not clinging to, and pointed to an exquisite white flower in the garden.

"I wish we could all be like that flower. It has its perfect life. Filled with peace, just a being of beauty, helping nature. I wish we could all live its perfect life." She turned her pained eyes upon Draco.

"I wish we weren't murdering and torturing, every human a curse upon this lovely earth. I wish we could help nature and other beings instead of harming them. I wish we didn't all hate each other."

"We don't all hate each other, Mother. I love you," Draco said, his voice full of hurt.

"I know that, Draco," Narcissa said gently. "But some people hate each other, and they are a virus which destroys the human race. I wish it weren't so. I wish I had helped people all my life, instead of hurting and killing them." Narcissa took a deep breath.

"I wish I hadn't been a servant to the Dark Lord."

"Oh Mother!" Draco was shocked and anxious. He knew what she said was right, but he was scared for her. The Dark Lord would be angry. He was always listening.

Draco's fears came true right then, as a high cold voice filled the room, saying,

"Is that what you wish, Narcissa?" Narcissa's voice didn't tremble. It had no fear in it, only sorrow. She said quietly,

"Yes. That is what I wish." In a swirl of a cloak, the Dark Lord appeared. The anger emanating from the slits of red was the only emotion around him. Everything else about him was cold. Long black robes, deathly white skin. He was standing before Narcissa, staring down at her with unmistakable anger. Draco fell to his knees and prostrated himself on the ground. Then he sat up on his knees. The Dark Lord had not even noticed. He was glaring down at Narcissa.

"I thought you would be faithful Narcissa, after all I've done for you."

"What have you done for me, my Lord? Put me in danger; put my son in risk of death. You've made me commit terrible crimes. They still haunt me, every person I've killed and tortured. I wish I hadn't done such dreadful things. I wish I had been a good person." Draco had never heard his gentle mother so fierce. He quaked at the thought of what the Dark Lord would inflict on her. He didn't think she would survive it.

"You do, do you? You wish all this?" The Dark Lord's voice was filled with fury.

"Well, have you ever heard the phrase, be careful what you wish for? I think it applies to this situation." He stretched out a lean white finger and stroked her cheek. Narcissa was silent.

"Goodbye, Narcissa." There was a sudden green flash of light and Narcissa was completely still, a look of peace on her face, like she was finally happy after many years. The Dark Lord turned away from her and looked down at Draco who prostrated himself again.

"Sit up," he said coldly. Draco sat up, with fear in his eyes.

"Do _you_ feel the same way as your mother? Do you _wish_?" the Dark Lord asked scornfully. Draco gulped.

"No, my Lord," he replied, controlling his emotions so there was only faith in his voice.

"Good. Because if you did, you might have the same fate as her." The Dark Lord raised his wand, and Draco was terrified that he would inflict the Cruciatus curse on him or something awful like that. But instead, he shattered the glass of the French window, and then summoned the narcissus Narcissa had pointed to. When it came into his hand, he crushed it and dropped it on the floor.

"So much for its peaceful life!" he spat, and then disapparated without the usual pop. After he was gone, Draco stood up and walked over to his mother. He tucked a few strands of golden hair behind her ears, and caressed her cheek. Her eyes were closed, as if she'd been anticipating her end. Pain filled Draco. Intense, unbearable pain. It threatened to break the walls he'd built around his heart and sweep everything away. Everything he'd been taught, everything he'd taught himself, everything he'd had to learn, to survive. It was dangerous. But the grief was overpowering. He allowed a single icy tear to roll down his face, releasing some of his pain. Then he stopped himself. Tears were weak, even if they were relief. He sat unmoving and silent beside his dead mother, staring straight ahead of him. Finally, a light tap on his arm brought him out of his reverie. He turned around to look at the face of Dilly the house-elf, which was level with his, even though he was kneeling and she was standing. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and he could see the tear-tracks on her face. Her voice wobbled, as she squeaked,

"Master Draco! You is silent for so long! I is afraid! You is not going like my good Mistress is gone? She was a good Mistress, oh yes, I is loving her." Here the little creature plopped down on the ground and rocked back and forth, wailing. Draco reached out and patted her back awkwardly. Dilly instantly stopped and jumped up again, struggling to control herself.

"I is sorry. It is not proper. It is not my place. How may I serve you, Master Draco?" Draco spoke in a shaky voice,

"Can you make her ready, Dilly? Can you make her look as beautiful as she can?"

"Oh yes, Master, I is trying right now." With a last curtsy, Dilly scurried away to her dead mistress, to make her look beautiful for her funeral. She pointed her fingers, and magic sparked out of them. The sea-green gown became white, and narcissi were twined in her golden hair. Draco stood up glanced around the room and was about to walk out, when his father strode into the room. Those quick grey eyes took in everything- the shattered glass, his dead wife, and Draco's grief-stricken eyes.

"What happened?" he asked sharply.

"Mother wished for things which made the Dark Lord unhappy. He came and killed her." Draco's voice was blank, but his eyes betrayed his feelings. A thousand emotions flicked through Lucius Malfoy's face, but he ended up looking angry. Draco was worried that he'd say something dangerous as well, but it turned out he was angry at his wife.

"How could she do something like that? She's placed our whole family in jeopardy. She was about to die anyway, but what about me, I still have a long life to live, and in complete faith to the Dark Lord."

"And there's you," he added as an afterthought. "The Dark Lord's fury knows no bounds. You are only sixteen."

"Fifteen," Draco corrected him under his breath.

"Narcissa was always foolish." And that was when Draco did something he had never done before. He walked out of the room without a word. His father just stared after him. Draco hoped he would be forgiven, as his mother had just died. He was allowed to go on. His father did not call him back and punish him. He did not say a word. Draco walked on in silence. Down the corridor, up the staircase, down the corridor, through the door. He sat down on his bed and stared into space for five hours, until his brain told him to get up and go downstairs- they had their _commitment_ to his mother's murderer.

He was waiting in the cold hallway. His father would be there any minute. He was always at least five minutes late; he always kept Draco waiting- as if to show he had the authority to. But Draco was not doing nothing. All this time, after his mother's death, he had been building up the barrier, brick by brick, around his heart, which the wave of pain caused by his mother being taken from this world had broken, shattered, swept away. He needed this barrier to be indifferent to the pain and horror he was a witness to, and which he often was the cause of. If he had no barrier, he would break down; he would not be able to live. He had to be numb.

_Click click click. _The high-heeled boots which Lucius Malfoy always wore announced his arrival.

"Draco," he said coldly, upon seeing his son. Draco bowed low, as was the custom in the Malfoy family. His father acknowledged this with a curt nod of his head.

"We will be meeting Sylvia Davis today."

"Who is she, father?"

"A filthy mudblood, insulting the Dark Lord in public meetings," the blonde man spat. "She needs to be taken care of. I'm happy to do that. And you will assist me. Come here, Draco. Side-along apparition." Draco walked over and took his father's arm in a firm grip. Suddenly, he felt like he was being forced into a tight tube, and he couldn't breathe properly. But he wasn't too alarmed; they were the usual affects of apparition. They arrived outside an apartment building about seven stories high. They entered and walked quickly, their robes swishing around their ankles. They passed the doorman hurriedly. He called after them. Lucius carried on walking, gesturing for Draco to take care of him. The fat doorman was running after them. As the fat man reached Draco, he turned round, his wand at the ready.

"_Stupefy!" _Draco knew his father had meant for him to use the killing curse, but his mother's voice was still ringing in his head.

"_I wish we weren't murdering and torturing, every human a curse upon this lovely earth." _Draco didn't think his newly formed barrier was strong enough to stand a death from his own hands so quickly. He needed a little while more. He just hoped his father didn't force him to do anything to this Sylvia. He could probably stand to watch, but nothing more. He ran up the stairs and caught up, panting, with his father, just as he was about to apparate inside the apartment. He grabbed his robed arm, and then they were forced into the tube again, coming out in a modern apartment with nothing to show it belonged to a witch. Well, that was what he thought, until a disembodied voice started shrieking,

"Intruders! INTRUDERS!!" A pretty brown-haired young woman in muggle clothes ran into the room, her wand in her hand. She skidded to a halt when she saw the black-robed silver-blonde duo.

"Who are you?" she asked warily.

"Servants of the Dark Lord," Lucius replied. She had time for a look of fear to come onto her face, before Lucius shouted

"_Crucio_!" Draco watched for a few seconds before he screamed,

"STOP!" Lucius raised his wand, and stared at Draco.

"What did you say?" he asked dangerously.

"I told you to stop. I can't take it anymore!" Lucius looked very angry. He opened his mouth to utter some reprimand but-

"_Stupefy_!" the witch shouted. The long-haired blonde man fell down to the ground, his face frozen in a look of anger.

"_Expelliarmus_!" she shouted, before Draco could say a word. She caught the wands which soared into the air. Her wand was pointed at him and his was in her pocket, so there was nothing he could do. He raised his hands above his head in the signal for defeat.

"My stupefication spells were always weak. He'll enervate himself pretty soon. C'mon, let's go." The witch grabbed him and then they were in a tight tube, everything black, barely any oxygen. They apparated in some random public park.

"Walk," the witch said shortly. Draco started walking with her beside him.

"Well, considering you saved me intense pain and also probably my life, I guess I should thank you. But who the hell are you?" Draco considered trying to tackle her physically, but she had two wands, and also, he was against hurting a woman- his mother had taught him manners. He decided to just tell her everything. After all, whose side was he even on? What did he have to lose?

"My father's a Death Eater. The Dark Lord sent him to kill you. He always brings me along on missions like that; I suppose he's training me."

"Okaaay…And why did you stop him when he was torturing me?" Draco was silent. He didn't know himself. When the woman had been writhing in pain on the ground, he had felt pain and heard his mother's voice again and again in his head, and it was unbearable, so he had shouted at his father to stop. Why he had felt the pain was a mystery. Probably the barrier around his heart was too weak, and he wasn't numb to everyone's pain like he was supposed to be. The woman's face softened.

"You're just a boy!"

"No I'm not!" Draco snarled. She recoiled at venom in his voice. She didn't know of all those times his father had punished him cruelly him for not being able to watch people being tortured and murdered. She didn't know of those times he'd wake up, screaming from a nightmare, and his father would come and strike him, and send him to his mother, calling him a _Mummy's boy_ and telling him he wasn't a man. So Draco had learnt to not care, and curtain his eyes to hide his emotions, even when he did care. The woman watched Draco's stony face illuminated by moonlight, and felt sad about what the war had done to a young teenager. She wanted to take him into her arms and comfort him, but she knew this kind of behaviour would humiliate the young man, and make him angry. So she decided to treat him like an adult, much as she didn't want to, and explain everything to him. She was sure he was capable of understanding.

"OK, listen up. Do you want to go back to your father?" Draco thought for a while, and then shook his head.

"Right then. If Voldemort-" here Draco shuddered, "-is after me, then I have to go into hiding. I don't think he'd be too happy with you either. I suggest you come with me. Do you agree? If you do, then understand all the conditions. You are cut off from all your family, as they are connected to Voldemort. You may not make any contact with them, or any of your Death Eater friends. You may not harm any of my- our- friends. You will have officially come to the Light Side. If there's any condition you don't agree to, the deal's off and I'll send you back to your father with a memory charm. So, what do you say?" The woman extended a hand. Draco hesitated a moment, before he shook it. The woman smiled.

"Welcome to the Light Side. And now I'll tell you my name. I'm-"

"Sylvia Davis." For the first time since she had met him, Sylvia saw a smile illuminate Draco's face. It was brief, but it had been there. Sylvia smiled back, then grasped his arm, and they disapparated.

A drunk saw a pretty brunette in her twenties, and a silver-blonde teenager walking together in the park. Suddenly, they stopped, conversed for a while, smiled at each other, and then disappeared with a pop. The drunk thought he was hallucinating.

**Blaise Zabini**

Blaise dived into the pool. Cool azure flashed past him. Bubbles streamed up from his mouth. He touched the bottom lightly with his fingers, and then shot upwards again. The hot sun warmed his wet shoulders, and as he shook droplets out of his hair, he felt supremely happy and peaceful for no reason. He swam a few lengths then just floated on his back, his mind blissfully blank. But a voice interrupted his peace.

Blaise felt incredibly angry at the voice, because it had destroyed this happy moment.

"Blaise darling!" it called.

This was a very famous voice, which would be recognised by any self-respecting regular watcher of Wizarding Television. Many witches wished they had this voice, and many shops sold potions which said they gave the drinker this voice. The voice was low and husky. It was determined 'ear-candy' by many wizards and witches. This voice belonged to Zena Zabini, Blaise's mother, and Blaise was close to hating it right now.

The beautiful, famous witch stepped out of the pentagonal glass building which overlooked the swimming pool. She was dressed in a purple designer bikini, which greatly complimented her. Her eyes were shaded by a pair of large DKNY sunglasses. Well, every article of clothing she wore complimented her. Her skin was flawless, not a single wrinkle in it. A house-elf in a black and white uniform had a few towels over his arm, and another house-elf in a pink dress was carrying a tray bearing a delicious looking drink.

"Blaise darling," she repeated. "What are you doing here? Go and meet Greville at once. You have a lot to do today, I think. By the way, why didn't you meet Johnson that day?" Blaise didn't move.

"I had school that day," he replied.

"But I had gotten the headmaster's permission! He said it was alright for you to miss the day."

"I don't want to keep missing school, Mom. One or two days off is fun, but people start to notice when it's more. They think the headmaster's being lenient just because of you. I just wanna be normal, Mom."

"But you aren't normal, Blaise. You're my son." Blaise sighed.

"That's the problem," he said under his breath.

"What?"

"Whatever Mom." Blaise forced himself to get out of the pool. He grabbed a towel from the house elf and threw it round his shoulders. Then he walked away without another word into the glass house. From there, there was a passage leading to the rest of the mansion. He walked down the cool corridors, shivering slightly. Although he was only wearing swimming trunks, none of the house elves going about there work stared at him. He was allowed to do what he liked.

A few minutes later, Blaise entered his bedroom. It was very different from the rest of the grand house. It was a big bedroom, but the blue walls made it seem slightly smaller than it actually was. They were plastered with posters of rock bands, and weirdly, also of some violin players. There were also posters of the Chudley Cannons, his favourite team. The carpet underfoot was a dark grey. There was a long talking mirror attached to one wall, and a large step in cupboard built into the other. Opposite his bed, there was a huge flat-screen TV. Blaise fell face-down onto his springy, dark blue bed. He really couldn't be bothered to do anything else. He wished his mother would just leave him alone. Just because she was the _great Zena Zabini_, she expected him to follow in her footsteps. What if he just wanted to be a normal fifteen-year-old- hanging out with his friends, flirting with girls, smoking a cigarette in secret? And even if he was destined to be famous, couldn't it be because of his own talents? Instead of his mother's fame? Every director or producer, who wanted to cast him in their lead role, did so because he was a well known- and perhaps handsome- face. He wished-

_Knock knock_!  
"Come in," Blaise said, his voice muffled.

_Knock knock_! Blaise rolled over and shouted,

"Come in." A weedy man in a tweed suit entered the room, carrying a notebook and a pen. Blaise sat up.

"What is it, Greville?" he asked impatiently. The man spoke in a fast, oily voice.

"Yes. Well today…" he flipped the notebook open, "today you're meeting Mr Gianni- you know, the man at the Award Ceremonies?" Blaise nodded quickly, to make the man get on with it.

"Yes. Well he would like to meet you in half an hour at Champagne."

"Yeah…then?" Blaise asked in a bored voice.

"Yes. Well Johnson would like to make up for the appointment you missed on Wednesday. And then you have a meeting over coffee with Felisha Wright, to discuss your script. Last of all, there's the party at Alexandra Riel's house." Greville gave Blaise an annoying smile.

"Yes. I'm sure she will be very disappointed if you don't go."

"Fine. Get out Greville." Blaise knew he was being rude, but he didn't like Greville. Everything about him was annoying- from his clothes, to his looks, to his voice, to the way he began ever sentence with yes. Greville's face fell, and he scurried out of the room quickly. Blaise let out the breath he had been holding- it was a habit he had developed from a young age, holding his breath when Greville was in close proximity. The man emanated a rather disgusting smell of onions.

Blaise summoned up the energy, and got up from his bed and walked over to his wardrobe. As he opened the door, a rail sprang forward, holding his outfit for the day, clean and pressed. He stared at the navy blue velvet blazer with matching silk trousers and a white silk shirt. He really didn't want to wear those. Why couldn't his clothes be normal? After thinking for a moment, he ducked down beneath the rail, and stepped into the closet. Rails and rails of clothes surrounded him. He grabbed a random pair of jeans (Levis) and a grey hoody (plain old Gap) and walked back out. He pulled the clothes on, put on sneakers (Adidas) snatched up a wallet (full of money) and walked out of the room.

He didn't have to do what he was told. He could have a great day in London, _all by himself._ He grinned and headed down the corridor.

No one had stopped him, no one had questioned him, and now he was walking on the streets of Los Angeles, without anyone to ruin his happiness and freedom. He felt like singing, but he thought that would attract to much attraction, and he was trying to fit in. And fitting in, he was. No one stared at him, no one asked for his autograph, and no journalists flocked after him. He was very indistinguishable, with his grey hood pulled over his face, walking on the busy streets on a Saturday morning. He stopped, recognising the snowy white building as his destination. He pushed the door and went in. No muggle would have done this, as the building said:

ON SALE FOR $ 40,000000. And if some random extremely rich muggle did come in, he would immediately remember something important to do, and walk straight out again. But Blaise was not a muggle, and he knew the building's real purpose. It was the L.A.'s branch of Gringotts- the wizarding bank. He entered the large building, and found himself in a massive room with a very high ceiling. It was strangely cool after the hot sunny streets, and everything was made of dark green marble. Blaise was ushered to the desk by a goblin, and met by another goblin, standing behind the counter rubbing his hands together in a rather sinister manner.

"Yes, Mr. Zabini?" he asked. Blaise found it extremely unnerving that the goblin had recognised him, even though his hood was covering his face and he hadn't spoken at all.

"No one can hide from us, Mr. Zabini," the goblin said, answering Blaise's unasked question- as if he could read his mind- which made him shiver.

"Right," Blaise said uneasily. Well, he might as well get on with it. He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, and laid twenty-five golden galleon notes on the counter. (The American magical community used notes instead of huge coins, as it was much easier.) The goblin snatched them up, and started examining them.

"You want to exchange them?" he asked. Blaise nodded quickly. The goblin reached under the counter, put the notes somewhere, and brought out 1,000 U.S. dollars in exchange. Blaise gave him a quick thank-you, took the notes, stuffed them in his wallet, and walked out of the building as quickly as possible. He was glad when the warm sunlight hit his face again. He had always found the cold goblin banks pretty creepy.

As Blaise walked down the streets, he started regretting his decision to wear a long-sleeved top. He was sweating and feeling very hot. He spotted an ice-cream parlour, and sat down under one of the bright umbrellas with relief. He pulled back his hood, and leaned back against the metal of the chair, trying to absorb some of its cold.

"Hi." Blaise looked up quickly, but found it was only a waitress, holding a notepad and a pencil and batting her long black eyelashes like crazy at him. But his attention was immediately taken up to her violet hair. It was twisted messily into a bun, shining in the sunlight. Her eyes were the same shade of violet as her hair, and they were sparkling in appreciation of the cute customer she'd got. Blaise thought she looked pretty nice, and he _knew _that she'd be interesting. He smiled at her, in that heart-winning way of his.

"So what would you be having?" she asked. Her accent was British, and this interested him further.

"Blackberry's my favourite."

"Well I'll be getting you one of those right away. Anything else?"

"Well…I'd like it if you join me with an ice-cream. If the parlour will allow one of their best waitresses to bunk off work." The waitress' eyes sparkled like crazy.

"I don't really care if they do. I'll be back in a minute." Blaise watched the girl walk back to the counter. She walked behind it, put two scoops of ice-cream into two cones and walked back.

'Hello again." She handed him his ice-cream, and then sat down and started licking hers.

"So who are you again?" she asked him in between licks.

"I'm Blaise."

"Like fire, blaze?"

"Sure," he replied, deciding to lead her off his track.

"Cool. I'm Violet." Blaise's glance automatically flicked up to her hair. She grinned.

"Yeah, like my hair. You wanna know its story?"

"Yeah. Are you like, the daughter of some crazy scientist or something?" Blaise asked, smiling.

"Nope, my dad's a snotty businessman. He took me to his house for the weekend, and it was so stuffy and boring there, I escaped for an hour and dyed my hair purple to match my eyes and name, just to create a scene and make everyone go insane." Blaise started laughing loudly, attracting the attention of nearby customers. He quietened down and asked Violet,

"What did your dad do?"

"Oh, he was so funny! He spluttered and went red with anger, and was totally confused when I jumped and gave him a hug, telling him he was the best dad ever." Blaise laughed again, only this time not so loudly.

"And your mom? Wasn't she mad?"

"Nope, Mum's the coolest ever. She and Dad are separated. She just laughed when she saw me, and hugged me, and told me she wasn't the teensiest bit angry. I love her so much."

"Hah! I wish my mom would be like that. She's so annoying! She's English and all, so she has this accent, and she talks all posh."

"Not that being English is bad, or anything," he added hurriedly.

"Yeah, you had better get _that_ into your head if we're planning to see each other again. Though, if an English accent annoys you, I'll bug you to death without even trying. And that would beat all my records." Her eyes glittered mischievously.

"Now, why is she annoying again?"

"OK, the _real _reason's are, she never let's me fit in, she's always making me miss school, and she makes me go to these _stupid_ parties where I have to escape from these _stupid_ girls who chase me everywhere."

"And those are the _real _reasons?" Violet asked, falling about laughing. "You would never fit in as a normal teenager anyway! It's every teenage guy's dream to miss loads of school without getting into trouble, and go to great parties where girls chase them everywhere." Blaise blushed.

"OK, I guess that didn't sound that bad, but trust me, it is."

"Don't you ever just wanna fit in?" he added.

"Nah! That's boring! Do you think I would dye my hair purple if I wanted to fit in? Everyone stares at me! I don't mind. Let them! I just stare straight back at them. Like that guy over there." Blaise turned round and found that there was a tired looking man with his brown hair going grey was staring at them. Violet poked her tongue out at him, and he looked down, embarrassed.

"See?"

"Yeah. But he's probably staring at you because he's you're secret admirer, and loves to watch his beloved." Violet was silent for a second, staring into the distance, but then she snorted.

"Puh-lease! He looks old enough to be my dad." Blaise found the late reaction a little odd, but dismissed it as one of Violet's crazy mannerisms.

"Not quite. And anyway, you're never too old to fall in love." Violet laughed.

"Where did you get that? One of those corny old movies which they show in those broken-down cinemas as a last resort?"

"Maybe. I love going to broken-down cinemas and watching the corny movies. Do you think that guy's your stalker?"

"Perhaps we are lovers torn apart by our horrid families, and we meet everyday in a dark alley." Violet waggled her eyebrows suggestively. Blaise laughed.

"Or maybe he's you're stalker. I'm starting to think I should walk you home."

"You'd have to waste a lot of the time you could be chatting up other waitresses waiting for me to finish my work. And that reminds me-" Violet popped the last bit of cone in her mouth, "-I have to finish my work, or I'll get fired. And then I _will_ care." Violet got up.

"You're the first girl who's turned me down."

"I'm often a first. Who else have you seen with violet hair? I'll also be the first girl to tell you to leave the bill on the table after you've tried so hard to avoid that. You're paying for my ice-cream too."

"Aww, you got me all figured out!"

"I know! Buh-bye Blaze." Violet ruffled his hair and dropped a piece of paper in his lap, before walking away. Blaise picked the paper up and looked at it. It had a bunch of numbers on it. What was it? Oh yeah, a cell phone number. The codes muggles used, on those weird thingies to communicate each other. Oh! So she wanted to communicate with him. How nice. He stared at her as she walked back to the counter, turned round waved at him and then never looked back at him. He pulled his wallet out, and put five dollars on the table. Then he walked away from the parlour, to finish off his day of fun, all alone, in Muggle L.A.

**Ginny Weasley**

"Hey Mum," Ginny said, sitting down at the table, picking up a plum from the fruit bowl and biting into it.

"Hello Ginny," was the rushed reply. Mrs Weasley was hurrying around the tiny kitchen, quickly cooking a huge dinner.

"So…what are you cooking?"

"If you really want to know, hang around. If not, please leave, I don't have time to chat to you, Arthur's bringing colleagues home from work," Mrs Weasley snapped, beating six eggs in a bowl.

"Fine!" Ginny stood up angrily. "You don't have to be mad! I was just trying to make conversation!" With that, she stormed out of the kitchen. She made her way across the chicken scattered yard towards the broom shed. But the only broom she found was the old Shooting Star which was slower than a butterfly. Throwing up her hands in exasperation, Ginny grabbed it, and stomped out of the shed again. She walked out of the gate and up the little hill whose crown was an apple orchard. After a few minutes of climbing she reached the top, only to find her brothers flying around on the other brooms, playing Quiditch. Ginny was already expecting it because of the missing brooms from the shed, but it still annoyed her that there was no private space or time at all when you were living at the Burrow. She got on her broom and took off from the ground.

On any other broom, the rush of air from flight would have swept away her previous annoyance. But the Shooting Star was so slow, the flight only served to annoy her more. She egged the old broom on and even sent it angry mind messages, but nothing helped. She had to wait a full five minutes to reach the place in the air where her brothers were. They were laughing and joking around. Ginny would usually have joined in, but she was in a very bad mood.

"Ron!" she shouted. Ron jumped.

"What?"

"Why the hell have you taken my broom?"

"Because no one else took it. And it's not your broom. We all share the brooms."

"It damn well is my broom. Mum and Dad got it because I got great marks last year!"

"Well Fred took my broom, and yours was left, and you weren't there, so I took it." He was being perfectly reasonable, but Ginny was beyond being reasonable. She urged her broom to cover the distance between Ron and her quickly. She was getting closer, and he still hadn't moved. In fact, he was turning away. He had thought she would be convinced and pacified by his explanation. Well, he had another think coming then, Ginny thought. She was so close! She was about to draw her fist back and punch him on the back of his head, but suddenly Bill zoomed in between them on his Nimbus Two Thousand and One. He alone had realised what Ginny was about to do. He knew her too well.

"Gin," he said quietly. Ginny calmed down a bit, when she heard that age-old nickname. She knew she was being stupid, and there was no reason to be stupid when you knew it.

"Tell Ron to give me back my broom," she demanded anyway, a bit more quietly than before.

"No Ginny. Let him use it. You can tell Fred to give you Ron's broom; he's at fault really. But don't. Just play for once on this broom."

"I'm NOT gonna play Quiditch on this broom. Buh-bye."

Ginny went slowly back to earth, her anger only slightly abated. She ran back to the broom shed, dumped the broom there, and then ran through the house into the garden behind it. At least she'd be alone there, she mused, except for the gnomes, or gernumbli something, as Luna would call them. Just thinking about the strange Ravenclaw made her smile, banishing a bit more of her anger. Slowly, as she sat by the pond, creating a whirlpool with her fingers, and watching the little green men at play, her anger ebbed away. She felt quite peaceful, the green all around her soothing the fire inside her. A smile came onto her face for no reason at all, and laid her head back on the grass and closed her eyes.

**Adéle Réve**

Adele skipped through the long grass.

"The birds are singing for us!" exclaimed Adele delightedly. The boy staring after her looked rather bored.

"Sure," he replied flatly.

"Let's dance!" Adele looked excited. Her fair skin was prettily flushed, and her hazel eyes were sparkling. Strands of her wavy honey-coloured hair were falling down from her French twist.

"There's no music." The sentence was a statement which announced finality to the matter. Adele barely heard it. She took out her wand and waved it. Suddenly, the birds were singing in harmonious synchrony, what sounded like 'Swan Lake'.

"Ballet?" Dillon asked, disbelievingly.

"Of course!" Adele sounded happy that he had recognised it. She raised her delicate arms in an elegant ballet pose. Then she soared into the air in a split and landed on pointe gracefully. Again she leapt up, whirled around and landed beautifully. She ran over to the Dillon, saying,

"Lift me!" She jumped up into the air completely trusting strong arms to hold her there and spin her around. The arms rose, but half-heartedly, and they could not even bear the weight of petite Adele. The boy and the girl tumbled down to earth, with Adele on top. For a few moments, she lay there, her head resting on his chest, then jolted out of her daydreams by two hands pushing her off him. She hurriedly stood up and straightened her floaty top and ran a hand along her jeans, brushing of the dust subtly. Dillon jumped up, grumbling and dusted himself.

"Why did you tackle me?" he asked irritably.

"But darling! I wanted you to lift me!" Adele replied reproachfully. Dillon glared at her.

"Then why didn't you say so?"

"But I did!" Adele's eyes widened, pleading her innocence. It was no use. Dillon was thoroughly disgruntled, and rather humiliated at not having been able to support her. The birds had stopped singing. The golden sunlight of the late evening had faded away, and the blood red glow of the setting sun made Dillon look slightly frightening. Normally, Adele would have stood gazing at the sunset, happy to be looking upon such a beautiful romantic scene. However, the situation at hand did not allow her to escape into her daydreams. She didn't know how to handle it. Usually, somehow, everything seemed to happen as she had dreamed of it. She didn't know how, but she was content to give them a very happy grateful smile. They seemed content too. Adele didn't know that it was for the reward of her lovely smile that people did whatever she seemed to wish. She didn't know what charm she had, or what control over the hearts of men. Adele was totally innocent. She never even realised she could manipulate people. She was happy to go where the wind carried her- it always landed her in a wonderful place! Adele didn't know that when she flicked her hair of her shoulder, or when her hazel eyes sparkled with delight or clouded over with tears, any males within her vicinity- or most- were captured and couldn't look away. Hell! They would probably even stare at her if she was covered in mud, as long as they could see her eyes and her smile. It was because Adele didn't know her worth that many people could take advantage of her. She was satisfied when someone was kind to her and when everything was romantic enough. But she got hurt. She was vulnerable and when someone she thought she loved let her down, it was cruel realisation that hit her every time that real life wasn't the same as her dream world. Right now, she realised that Dillon wasn't quite the prince from her dreams, even though with his long sandy hair and blue eyes, he looked like one. Right now, she didn't know what to do. So she simply turned around and walked away, going to consult her best friend Lea. She could always rely on her tall, ginger-haired sensible friend to be there and look after her. As Adele walked away from Dillon, ignoring his angry calls and later swear-words coming after her, she was rather confused and a bit sad- her usual state after a she was jolted from her fantasies.

**A.N. This part is dedicated to my horrible history teacher who enjoys our misery.**

**Harry Potter**

"Hand in your essays," called the silky voice of the silver-haired man. "Anyone who hasn't brought theirs will have two points deducted from their total marks and will do a detention with me." Harry cringed internally. Why did he always forget to do his Professor's homework? Grrr! He raised his hand hesitantly and looked around to see who else had forgotten. Only three other people had raised their hands apart from him- another guy and two girls. Hmm…Professor Salvein's techniques were working well. The only boy who had forgotten apart from Harry was Salvein's pet so _he _didn't have to worry. And the other girl did fairly well in her classes so two marks probably wouldn't make a difference to her. But the other girl, now Harry really felt bad for her. She was a mousy little thing whom he had never heard raise her voice- or barely talk at all, he realised. She couldn't really answer teacher's questions and when she could, they couldn't hear her. All in all she was perfect picking-on material for Salvein. Not a History of Magic lesson went by when she wasn't bullied by Salvein. She never said anything in angry rebellion though; she just bent her head and got on with her pitiful work. Harry felt a bond with her for he was also a subject of humiliation for the nasty Professor. He just could _never _remember to do the work he was set by Professor Salvein. It was as if he had mental block against it. And he never seemed to be able to shut his sarcastic little mouth when he was scolded by the man he abhorred. And that got him into even _more _trouble! A malicious glint was sparkling in Professor Salvein's eye. Harry could just picture him rubbing his hands together with glee at the thought of another torture session with these wrongdoers.

"Ah…there they are," then man jeered. "That group of students who are always there- the ones who decide that they cannot be bothered to do the homework I set." He surveyed them as if they were something tasty to eat. Harry shivered. Professor Salvein walked up to the mousy girl and thrust his nose in her face. She looked terrified and took an involuntary step back.

"So…Roberta…you've decided not to bring my essay today?" he asked, his voice dangerous. Roberta stammered out an incoherent answer.

"I'm- I'm s-sorry s-s-sir," Salvein mocked her, putting on a nasal voice. Going back to his normal voice, he sneered, "I don't like listening to broken CD players like you!" With a last unpleasant sneer, he moved on to the other girl. He didn't say much to her, and what he did say, Harry wasn't listening to, filled with dread at his upcoming 'talk' with the vile Professor. Salvein finished with his victim and turned his eyes greedily upon Harry. He walked up to him- passing the other erring boy on the way, and totally ignoring the fact that he had made the same mistake as the others.

"So!" Professor Salvein announced pompously. "So!" the Professor repeated. Harry barely resisted the temptation to roll his eyes. "You're another one of _those_. You thought you just wouldn't hand in your essay and get away with it? You didn't want to bring it?" This time Harry did roll his eyes.

"Yes…because I _so_ love detention!" He groaned internally. His stupid big mouth! He decided that rather than act panicked, he would play it cool- which did _not_ mean his mouth could spout sardonic comments of its own accord, he reminded it. Half the class was snickering. Salvein silenced them with a glare. Then he turned back to his prey.

"Well," he replied softly, "as you so love detention, why don't I turn that one day into a week?" This time Harry clamped his mouth shut just as he was about to open it and reply.

"Yes…I'm glad you've learned your lesson. I'm hoping not to have to hear your voice again." Harry was fuming. He couldn't even mock the Professor because that would earn him more detentions. He hated to admit it- but Professor Salvein had him cornered. Salvein turned back to the class.

"Class dismissed," he called. "Except for you three," he added in a hiss that everyone heard. The other girl- the one who wasn't Roberta raised her hand as the class was packing their bags. Professor Salvein raised his eyebrows. She took that for permission to ask her question.

"Why aren't you keeping Andre back?" she asked clearly, so that he wouldn't miss a word. The whole class stopped what they were doing, and everyone was silent, staring at the Professor's face. Harry was impressed with the girl's bravery. He wouldn't have dared to do that. The only bravery he exhibited was unintentional- his stupid comments which got him into trouble. He was partly too smart to try and be rash, and partly just not particularly brave. Professor Salvein looked angry.

"Are you questioning my actions or my judgement?"

"Both, sir," the girl replied just as clearly. Salvein looked like he was about to explode.

"For you information, Andre gave me a perfectly reasonable explanation to why he didn't do his homework," the Professor blustered.

"You haven't gone near him all class," the girl replied coldly.

"I- I- you- he- I will not be interrogated like this! Excuse me; I need to take a break from you brats before I deal with you." With that the Professor strode out of the class. Harry stared at the girl in new respect. He'd never seen the Professor defeated like this. The victorious girl simply looked slightly amused. She put her feet up on the desk and took out a book. We three sat there, waiting for Professor Salvein as the class drifted out. Eventually he came back, the blush in his cheeks having ebbed away, and his silky voice returned.

"Well, you unpleasant children have earned a detention with me. I know you have lunch now, so you can do my work. I want you to clean the whole room until it is spotless and then write an essay about it with reference to cleaning in the History of Magic. I'm leaving, and when I come back in an hour, I don't want to be disappointed." The happy Professor left them to their disagreeable work. Harry groaned. The girl looked amused again. She too out her wand and waved it in a sweeping motion. The whole room sparkled with cleanliness. Then she conjured up three pieces of paper and three quills and waved her wand again so that the quills wrote out a single sentence- 'We waved a wand and the room magically cleaned itself just like many house-wives have done in the history of magic.' Harry looked at it and laughed- but he was surprised by a sobbing sound from behind them. They both turned around to find Roberta crying quietly, tears streaming down her face, her wet eyes bloodshot. The other girl immediately went up to her. She put an arm around Roberta, and asked her what was wrong, leaning towards her to catch the whisper. Harry hung back. He wasn't great shakes at comforting crying people. They made him uncomfortable. All he could do was _try _and make them laugh. He sat down in a desk and stared in the opposite direction from the unhappy girl. After a while, the girl came back. She was looking at him slightly angrily. Harry was worried he had done something to upset Roberta.

"Why didn't you come and comfort her?" the girl asked in a disapproving voice, a crinkle between her eyebrows.

"I'm…uh…kind of uncomfortable around crying people." The last part came out in a rush, and Harry had no clue why he had told this unknown person this. The girl's brow cleared and she started to laugh. Harry realised she was actually quite attractive. She had quite regular features- dark brown eyes and dark brown hair- but when she laughed, you could see her beautiful cheek bones, and her whole face lit up. She was also rather tall and slim, but curvyish. Harry was suddenly shy. He didn't do well around pretty girls. He looked away and pretended she wasn't there, to stop the blush threatening to turn his pale cheeks red.

"By the way I'm Emily," the girl told him. Harry was slightly nervous about having to look at her again, but relieved at being able to call her something other than 'the other girl' in his head. He nodded and told her his name. After a moment's silence, she asked him in a slightly lowered voice,

"Aren't you going to ask why Roberta was crying?"

"Um…" Emily threw up her hands.

"Boys! Well I'm going to tell you anyway. She was crying because she thinks she'll fail as she doesn't get good marks, and Salvein," here her voice sounded disgusted, "keeps deducting marks." She sat silent again for a second, before she said,

"Aren't you going to go and comfort her then?" This time Harry's cheeks did turn red, as he imagined putting an arm around Roberta.

"Um…no." Emily laughed again, and Harry had to look away. Well, this was going to be a difficult detention.

**Well…how did you like it? I was quite pleased with my Draco part this time so I hope you will be too. Have you guessed anything about Violet? Please review! *crosses fingers hard***


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